


Cosmopolitan

by Servetolive



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe, F/M, Het, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servetolive/pseuds/Servetolive
Summary: Lal addresses personal curiosities in the holodeck. Repost from 2010.





	Cosmopolitan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of [a fic](http://servetolive.livejournal.com/26102.html) I wrote in July 2010 on Livejournal. There are a few slight changes.

It was a good thing that she had thought to design the room using modern materials. A Terran iron bedpost from the mid-twentieth century would have buckled in her wet palms. 

She wanted to see their skin connecting; she wanted to see his hair disheveled and the wild, carnal look in his eyes as he fucked her. He lifted the silk hem of her qi-pao until it exposed the entirety of her ass, the red fabric pooling at the small of her arched back, his hands sliding between garter belts and nylons. 

She couldn't move her neck. She focused on a wrinkle in the previously-crisp white bedsheets, or the shine in her laquered nails as they dug into them. She heard ripping sounds. She thought it was her dress, but the program knew better--her thumb had torn a hole through the fabric, exposing one long acrylic digit through its opposite end.

A deeper thrust, and with a sharp intake of air, her head snapped up--she felt it in her spine, an electric pulse running all the way up to the base of her neck.

"Think I found something," murmured the smooth voice, completely aware that with every nudge further inside of her came more tension, more tremors, more moisture.

"Again," she managed to say, raising her hips up and bracing the bed frame. "Faster."

Her tongue ran over her painted lips, undoubtedly smearing rouge all over the bottom of her face. Words came to her mouth--over his moaning, she prayed he could not hear her--"father," "brother," "uncle," "wet," "child," "breast." An array of images accompanied them, some matching to their definition and some not. 

"Faster," she hissed amongst uninhibited whimpers and gasps. "I said, faster."

In her mind, her father sucked on a square of solid honey as he sipped Persian tea. During the first movement of _Scheherezade_ , she matched his passionate flair with the violin solo as she drew her bow across the cello , tilting her head back as the vibrations glanced against her lower stomach. Lore's smile was unexpectedly genuine when he first saw her and held his hand out, as soft as Data's until her wrapped his finger tightly around her wrist. She crossed her legs uncomfortably when her dark-haired male first officer had given her "the look." A white hand cupped her breast.

He was hitting the spot with each movement then; slight jerking movements emanated from the servos in her neck. She opened her mouth and low-pitched, even tones joined the slick sounds of his cock gliding in and out of her and his wet thighs slapping against her ass. Glycerin tears welled up in her eyelids, ruining all her hard work with the application of cosmetics. The more pressure she put on her vocal chords, the harder he fucked; the more loudly he groaned.

She screamed, and it was just what he had wanted. Nails dug deep into her bioplast, his hips slamming into hers painfully as he exhaled and spilled inside of her.

Finally, she could see his face. Dress still hiked above her hips, she turned over and sat, legs still open and exposing herself, as he leaned against the dresser behind him trying to catch his breath, his head tipped back, shaking loose the hair which she had always imagined so flawlessly formed. When he lifted his head back up to turn a corner of his mouth up in her direction, something about the lax way his elbows lounged atop the furniture--trousers open, neck-tie wrinkled and hanging uselessly from either side of his collar--and the way his hair moved along with his head made the burning in her groin resume. 

"Did you come this time?"

"No," she said, pulling the cold towel from the marble-top bedside drawers beside her and mopping up the space between her thighs. "But almost."

"Well, damn." A cigarette bobbed up and down between his lips as he lit it with his index finger.

Slipping away from the mess, she stood, straightening out the bottom of her dress so that it covered the top half of her thighs. She then sat at the edge of the bed, lamenting over a run in her nylons.

The program came around to let his free hand glide through locks of her immaculate hair.

"Data made you well."

The contact pulled her attentions away from her stockings, and she locked eyes with him, looking for something, anything else that reminded her of her father. 

"Thank you."

Her eyes flickered to and from the cigarette in his hand.

"Give me one too, please."

As was customary for the time period, the program offered her a cigarette and lit it once it was tucked between her red lips. He then retreated to sit in the parlor chair that overlooked a quaint little garden outside the arched window.

In the meantime, she finished her cigarette and sat at the vanity, reapplying eyeliner and rouge where necessary.

"Does your father know about this?"

She paused only for a second before continuing to apply the blush that had been wiped clean from her face. Looking back, she could see it, smudged against the ivory sheets.

"Would there be some purpose in informing him?"

"... Not unless you're fucking him too."

"And even then, it would matter not," she said, searching for her thick eyeliner pencil. "The two of you are just holograms."

He chuckled. "That, we are."

Finished, she stood again and approached the program, towering over him in her forties' era black pumps. Fingers slid up the nylons, tracing a garter belt.

"D'you want me to finish you off?"

Feeling herself quiver again, she allowed him to guide her forward until she straddled his knees. A thumb grazed against the crease between her thigh and pelvis. Just as soon as she could react, the sound of the comm activating cut through the atmosphere; she could feel her excitement drop straight into her abdomen.

"Bridge to holodeck four. Captain?"

She had been moving quite fluidly before she rose to respond, quickly and mechanically. Just as the program finished rolling his eyes, he froze in place.

"This is Lal."

"We need you on the bridge, sir. Commander Khalil has reported to sickbay and can no longer conduct nightwatch."

"Acknowledged. I am on my way. Lal out."

Lal was glad that the enounter had not progressed; otherwise, she would have to go through the tedium of reapplying makeup for the third time. She untangled herself from his legs and took her small handpurse from the vanity.

"I must leave. I have duties to perform."

The program smiled at her, kindly, before standing up to see her out. She affixed a small, elaborate headpiece atop the left side of her head and pulled the black netting down, its hem resting just below her bright red lips, and took one last glance at the mirror to make sure she was decent before turning towards the exit.

"Lal."

She turned back, awaiting his question.

"I wanted to tell you something."

"Yes?"

He took a few steps forward. "When you're here with me, you can be whoever you want. You don't have to be perfect for me. I'm not Data. Do you understand?"

She looked at him blankly through her veil, neither indicating an affirmative nor a negative.

"Let go of your inhibitions."

Lal's painted eyes flitted downward for a couple of seconds before returning their attention directly to the program.

"Thank you, Uncle. Computer, exit program."


End file.
